


The Legacy Left to Heretic Sons

by Alexander_L



Series: You and I and the stories we tell – A collection of Ferdinand/Hubert oneshots [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A dash of background Sylvix, Comfort/Angst, Family Issues, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, M/M, POV Hubert von Vestra, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, Soft Hubert von Vestra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_L/pseuds/Alexander_L
Summary: As Ferdinand struggles with his conflicting feelings about his father's death, Hubert seeks to comfort him. And by doing so realizes how important Ferdinand could be to him.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: You and I and the stories we tell – A collection of Ferdinand/Hubert oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794589
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	The Legacy Left to Heretic Sons

**Author's Note:**

> I have diverged from canon slightly in the fact that I included the events of Ferdinand's paralogue in this Crimson Flower timeline, where canonically it doesn't happen, I believe. I just played the paralogue and it struck me how genuinely grieved he sounded when he mourned his father. It made me want to understand why so I had Hubert talk it over with him.
> 
> Chronologically in their relationship and in this series, this story falls after the point in which they've grown closer but before _Reading Nook_ where they confess any romantic feelings. Just pining at this point. Alas.

###  **Hubert**

  
  


When news of my father’s assassination became common knowledge, all eyes inevitably turned to me, for my hatred of him was no secret. Even had I not been informed of the gossip by Dorothea, I would have known exactly what was being said of me. I have borne this ruthless mask too long to not be well aware of its consequences.

They said I snuck into my ancestral house in the dead of night and cut my father’s throat. They said I laughed as he died choking on his own blood – the very blood that runs in my veins. But, as Dorothea eloquently put it, _“Fuck them and their talk.”_

People’s assumptions did not faze me, though. I chose this persona intentionally after all, seeking to be seen as inhuman for with the judgment and isolation came the respect I need to keep Edelgard safe. And I would vastly prefer the kind of gossip provoked by my father’s death than the kind that Ferdinand now faces for his. 

“The louder people are doubting his loyalty to our cause, and the more moderate ones are simply ridiculing him, saying that he was an idiot to be blind to his father’s despicable actions and a weak fool to waste grief on his death once he knew what he’d done,” Dorothea says and takes a sip of her tea, staring sadly out at the garden around us. “Do you want me to intervene when I hear these things being said? What should I say?” 

“No, don’t,” I reply. “You have your own reputation to maintain; don’t let it get tangled with Ferdinand’s. And gossip only gets worse when challenged. It will blow over next time he marches back from battle with another heroic achievement under his belt.”

“But he’s our friend! We can’t let them talk about him like this.”

“Dorothea,” I caution, glancing around quickly at our surroundings, which although private at the moment are still not without danger of eavesdropping. 

She lowers her voice as she replies, “Sorry. It just boils my blood to see people talking shit about someone I care about. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Deeply,” I assure her. “But my goal is to let it die out as soon as possible, not try to change the minds of imbecilic people who are by nature uninclined to listen to reason.” She finishes her cup of tea and I pour her another, saying, “As always, thank you for keeping me informed. You are a useful ally.”

Dorothea raises her eyebrows. “Careful, Hubie. If you start handing out compliments that aren’t so backhanded as to be confused with insults at first glance, there’ll be gossip stirring up about you going soft.”

“Hmph,” is all I have to say in response to that.

She laughs and snags a biscuit from the tray. “Well, tea and subterfuge is a pleasant reprieve from war. Thank you for giving me work to do that doesn’t require a sword.” Her expression fades to a more sincere one as she adds in a tone heavy with sorrow, “Take care of him, Hubie. He’s not like us. He’s not… used to being alone.”

“Perhaps you should go check on him,” I tell her. “You are capable of a far more comforting manner than me. I’ve never been much for condolences.” 

She regards me with a piercing look and says, “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen the way Edie leans on you for comfort and support, and I know Edie enough to be sure she wouldn’t do that if you weren’t good at offering it. So why can’t you give Ferdie a bit of that kindness and compassion? What are you afraid of? That _he’ll_ think you’ve gone soft?” She scoffs. “You know a gesture of friendship would mean more coming from you than me. Suck it up and do your best.”

It irks me that she has become comfortable enough to speak so bluntly with me, but then again, Dorothea speaks her mind to everyone. It is probably not a byproduct of our closening acquaintanceship as of late. 

“Very well,” I reply stiffly. “Far be it from me to shirk a duty. If you refuse to, I will have to see to him myself.”

“‘See to him?’” she repeats. “Good goddess, you sound like you’re going to murder him not let him cry on your shoulder.” She sighs. “If you’re unsuccessful, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. It’s not that I don’t want to be there for him; it’s just that I know comfort will be more welcome from you than me. Ferdie and I might be friends now, but we’re not close like you and him are.”

There was a time when I would have disavowed any level of friendship with Ferdinand, but I suppose the unexpected familiarity that has grown between us has gone on long enough it is not worth denying to myself and others.

“I understand,” I say. Setting down my still-full teacup, I stand up to clear the table.

“Why do you always insist on having tea when we talk when you don’t even drink it?” Dorothea asks.

“The offering of a hot beverage is a traditional social cue of friendliness that signals you value your conversation partner,” I reply in a monotone.

Dorothea smiles as if I just handed her a bouquet of flowers and told her she was beautiful. “You value me? Aw, Hubie, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”

Bidding her good day with a curt nod, I walk off carrying the tray with the tea set. After dropping it off in the kitchen, I walk over towards the training grounds where I have no doubt I will find Ferdinand at this time of the morning.

I hesitate as I reach the doors, trying to formulate somewhat of a plan lest I say anything heedlessly. Dorothea, for all her perceptiveness, seems to have one thing wrong. It is not unwillingness or discomfort that keeps me from approaching Ferdinand. I am not unaffected by his pain, neither am I put off by it. If there were something I could do that I know would be of tangible help to ease his turmoil, I would do it in a heartbeat. No, I am not uncomfortable with sympathy, merely doubtful of my own abilities.

I know better than anyone that carelessly spoken words, no matter the kind intentions behind them, can do more harm than good. Grief is a personal thing, experienced in a unique way by everyone. What I would say to Edelgard will not be of service to Ferdinand. And if I say the wrong thing, I will only add to his pain.

I suppose my best chance at being useful will not be to speak, but to listen.

With this determination in mind, I push open the doors to the training grounds and walk in to find Ferdinand engaged in a fierce sparring match with Felix. The two of them do not normally interact all that much. Felix, although he fights alongside us reliably, has never assimilated well into our ranks. He keeps to himself mostly, only associating with the other Faerghans who deserted to our army.

“How long have they been at it?” Sylvain asks, strolling in and standing next to me.

“I just arrived,” I answer.

“Typical Felix,” Sylvain mutters, “trying to be empathetic but not knowing how else to do it other than beating the shit out of someone in a sparring match.”

I give him a curious look then understanding dawns on me. Felix too has a father he is ashamed of who we will have to face in war soon and who will likely die as well. It makes sense he would feel some level of pity for Ferdinand. And it also makes sense, given the culture of Faerghus, that he would have no idea how to express that in an emotionally intelligent way. 

I doubt Ferdinand has any idea of such motivation on Felix’s part. He probably agreed to spar merely out of courtesy. He doesn't even fight with a sword and indeed he seems rather at his limit trying to stand his ground against Felix’s onslaught of attacks. 

“Want me to rescue Ferdie?” Sylvain asks.

“It is none of my concern whether he gets trounced by Felix. That is his problem.”

“Then why are you lurking around watching him?”

“It is helpful to observe my allies from time to time to monitor their progress and performance.”

“Sure,” Sylvain says doubtfully. Much like Dorothea, he has a way of giving me knowing looks that galls me to the bone. With Dorothea there is some degree of familiarity to permit such treatment. But aside from the occasional chess match or discussion on political strategy, Sylvain and I have no such friendship.

I regard him with an icy look but he continues on undeterred, saying, “You’re worried about Ferdie, aren’t you?”

I do not reply.

“Yeah, me too,” he says with surprising compassion in his tone. He claps me on the shoulder then walks over to the sidelines of Felix and Ferdinand’s match.

“Fee!” he calls. “Time to pack it up.”

“What?” Felix says without missing a beat of his attacks. “Don’t order me around! I’m not done training yet.”

“You owe me dinner and I’m calling in the debt. I’m starving,” Sylvain replies.

“Tough,” Felix replies but he makes the fatal mistake of glancing over for a split-second and seeing the pathetic puppy-dog eyes Sylvain is giving him. 

“If you wish to stop, we can always resume our match later,” Ferdinand offers politely.

Felix lowers his sword and huffs in frustration. “Fine. Come on, Sylvain. But we’re even after this! Don’t come begging anymore favors off me!”

“If you hadn’t lost our sparring match, you wouldn’t owe me a favor,” Sylvain goads.

“Fuck you,” Felix mutters.

“Not until after dinner. I’m hungry for actual food at the moment. Sorry.”

Felix blushes bright red and practically flees the training grounds after that crass innuendo and Sylvain chases him with a laugh.

I turn my attention back to Ferdinand, who is dousing his face with water from a flask and wiping it away with a towel. Whatever words I had planned to say desert me for a moment as I stare at him, taking in every detail of the sight as if I were observing a painting. His collar is undone and his head is tipped up, exposing the flushed skin on his neck. The sheen of sweat across it glistens in the shaft of sunlight pouring in from a window. A few wet curls of hair cling to his temples while the rest of it pours out over his back, a waterfall of tangled strands that all but glow with honey-gold warmth.

Before he can catch me staring, I come back to my senses and chastise myself silently and ruthlessly for losing my grip on reality for an instant. I am here to accomplish a solemn task, not gape like a fool.

As he puts away the flask and the towel, he glances over at me and asks, “What are you doing here, Hubert? Your lurking shadow does not often darken the doors of this place. I was under the impression Adrestria’s most fearsome mage had surpassed the necessity of training.”

His words are not sharp or sarcastic, merely teasing. And yet the attempt at banter rings hollow. The strain of keeping his usual annoying smile glued to his lips has taken a visible toll. The lines of his face look sharper than usual, drawn tight with stress and fatigue, and the dark circles under his eyes are evidence that he has not been sleeping. Judging by his pallor and the slightly unsteady manner in his movements, he has not been eating consistently either – no doubt also a factor in why he was struggling against Felix in his sparring match.

“I came to see you,” I reply, for there is no sense in beating around the bush.

My forthrightness startles him a bit but he recovers and asks, “What is it you wish to speak of? Is something the matter?”

“Yes. But let us speak somewhere more private.”

He follows me out of the training grounds and we cross the monastery grounds in silence, broken only by Ferdinand’s winded breaths. We end up eventually in my office, for it is one of the few places I can be assured of complete privacy. I have it covered in enough warding spells to keep an army at bay.

Ferdinand sinks down into the chair across from my desk and exhales a long, weary sigh. “Why did you summon me here? Speak your mind so we can settle whatever disagreement it is now. I am too tired to bicker needlessly with you.”

“Contrary to what history would suggest, I did not bring you here to argue.”

He looks at me questioningly. 

“I brought you here simply to talk,” I add.

“About what?”

“Your health."

“Are you a physician now as well as spymaster, mage and tactician? We are not so hard-pressed that you need take on so many roles, Hubert.”

His teasing drains some of my patience and I scowl at him. “You are not in peak shape. If we were to be thrust into battle tomorrow, I am not sure I can rely on you to have the full capacity of your strength and focus.”

“You did not need to drag me all the way here to prescribe me a sleeping potion and a hearty meal.”

“I am not prescribing you anything. I merely wanted to broach the topic of your mental wellbeing so that if there is anything I can do to be of service, you will know you can but ask and I will gladly offer my assistance,” I say.

The way he is so obviously taken aback by my sincerity would be insulting if it were not entirely warranted.

His brow furrows and his look of surprise falls to one of pain. As his composure slips away, I see the conflict and turmoil written clearly across his expression now. It is the same look I saw on his face as he heard the news that his father had died and listened to the bandit who killed him brag about the fact.

I will not soon forget the raw, aching grief in his manner as he had wept on the battlefield. I had been the only one at his side in that moment and I am sure he was grateful to not be witnessed in such a vulnerable moment by anyone else. His sorrow had confused me at the time, for I was well aware that Ferdinand’s feelings about his father bordered on hatred. Ludwig had been a cruel and arrogant man who, although he never laid a hand on him in anger, still did a fair share of damage to Ferdinand. I surmise that his relentless criticism of Ferdinand’s behavior and dismissal of his values and opinions are one of the things that made Ferdinand so desperate to live up to the standards he imposed on himself, to the point where it often caused him harm.

The death of Ludwig von Aegir was glad tidings to me, my only regret being that it did not happen sooner and by my hand. After his complicity in Edelgard’s suffering, after his treatment of Ferdinand, and after the greed and heartlessness with which he had governed his people, he had well-earned his fate.

But even if I do not understand why Ferdinand would mourn a man he despised, it does not change the sincerity of that grief and my desire to alleviate it, if only so he can return to his work with his normal vigor and focus.

I expect Ferdinand to give in to my offer and pour out his thoughts, for he usually wears his heart on his sleeve and does not shy away from expressions of emotion, whether anger, compassion or sorrow. To my surprise, he forces composure back to his expression, stands up, gives me a short stiff bow, and says, “Thank you. I shall keep in mind your offer should a need arise. In the meantime, I will go tend to my health so that I will not be a liability in battle. I apologize for my negligence. It was thoughtless of me.”

Before I can formulate a reply, he bids me goodbye and leaves my office. I consider going after him, but it does not feel like my place to persist against his wishes and I have no desire to provoke his stubbornness and instigate an argument when he is in so depressed a mood.

So I let him go. I wonder if I somehow made everything worse. And I bury myself in work for the rest of the day.

“How could he have any attachment to that hateful man?” Edelgard asks me later as we share a glass of wine after finishing up the last of our work. It is well into the night, nearly half past eleven, and her patience with Ferdinand has obviously reached a limit.

“I don’t think he did,” I reply.

“Then why is he acting like this? Does he simply think it’s expected of him and is trying to keep up appearances?”

“No, I don’t believe that’s it.”

“You know him better than me. What do you think is wrong? Whatever it is, he needs to snap out of it.”

“He will. I have no doubt he will rally. As for the reasons for his behavior, I can’t speak with any certainty, but I would guess…” I pause, carefully collecting my thoughts so I can find the right wording to express what is more an impression than a solid opinion. “There is a difference between mourning a concept and mourning a person. I would guess that Ferdinand’s grief is for the idea of a family that he has been told his whole life to be proud of is now gone. With his mother lost to illness and his younger sister married off in the Alliance, he is the only von Aegir left, and his lineage will end with the disgrace of a heretic and traitor as its last scion.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Edelgard admits. “But it’s foolish to mourn a man you know was reprehensible.”

“It should not come as a shock that Ferdinand is a fool.”

“One whose hard work and courage we rely on,” she says, tempering her judgment with fairness. “One who I don’t want to see suffering, especially for needless reasons.”

“You are right, my lady.”

Finishing the wine, I ask her if there is anything else she requires for the night and at her reassurance that I am free to go, I retire to my quarters.

But as I round the corner of the hallway and catch sight of my door, I see Ferdinand standing outside of it, his hand raised to knock but frozen in indecision. He sees me and steps back.

“Hubert,” he says, sweeping his hair off his shoulder in a nervous movement. “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

“And you intended to wake me up?” I ask, walking over to the door and unlocking it.

“No, I did not. That is why I was not knocking. I did not realize how late it was until I got here. I apologize.”

He turns away to leave but I catch his arm to stop him. I let go immediately but he still seems startled by my touch, brief and light as it was.

“Come have a cup of tea with me,” I say. “I am usually up late. You won’t be bothering me.”

He is obviously embarrassed as he follows me inside, but I also get the sense that he dreads being alone right now too much to be deterred by the awkwardness of accepting an unexpected gesture of friendliness from me. In my small, stark room there is nowhere to sit but the bed so he settles down on the floor, leaning up against the leg of the bedframe and watching me as I pour water and chamomile tea into a pot and heat it with a fire spell.

“I thought you hated herbal teas,” he comments.

“I hate the taste of vulneries as well, but they are useful. Chamomile calms the nerves and aids in sleep. It is worth suffering the dull, disappointing flavor.”

Once the tea is finished, I sit down on the floor next to him and hand him a cup. “I fear my room is not fit for entertaining guests,” I say.

“Mine is little better.”

“Why did you come here?” I ask. “Did you need something?”

Ferdinand has been uncharacteristically reserved this whole time, holding back whatever thoughts and emotions are troubling him. I can see him struggle to keep on the mask; it slips for a moment, his brow furrows in pain, then he puts it back on and smiles faintly. It is painful to watch.

“I don’t know why I came. I am sorry to bother you.”

“I told you that you could come to me if there was anything I could do to be of service to you. Do you think I would say such a thing if I didn’t mean it?” I ask. “Tell me how I can help.”

“Will you give me advice?” he asks tentatively, looking over to meet my eyes for the first time. His are lost and weary, searching mine for answers to questions he has not asked yet.

In any other context, I would not be able to refuse the temptation to lord such a request over him with many a cutting remark and clever jab. Ferdinand, who has expressed disdain for my advice on so many occasions, now humbling himself to seek it is a rare and ironic twist for sure. 

But now is not the moment for teasing. So I return his gaze steadily and reassuringly and ask, “What troubles you?”

“Did you… did you kill Marquis Vestra?” he asks.

I stiffen and stare at him sharply. Compassion has a limit after all.

“I fail to see how that is a request for advice,” I reply coldly.

“I apologize; I did not mean it to sound like an accusation,” he amends. “What I wanted to ask was how he died and if it was indeed by your hand, how you were able to set aside your own subjective bias for the sake of objective justice.”

I relax a little and reply, “He died by my order but not by my hand,” I answer, unsure at first as to why I am even telling him. His assassination is not something I have spoken of to anyone other than Edelgard, and even then it was with the brevity and factuality of simply reading a report.

“Was there a reason you did not see to it personally?” he asks. His tone is very soft, but not with pity. I would not speak of this to him if I sensed something as disdainful as pity in his voice. I think he is just trying to speak appropriately to the gravity of the matter. 

At any rate, his manner encourages me to answer, for I find in this moment that I have wanted to talk about this; I just lacked the proper confidant. I need not worry about Ferdinand’s discretion too. He might be hasty and volatile in some regards, but I have seen him faithfully keep the confidences of others and I know that he will not betray my trust.

“I did not want to allow for the possibility that my personal bias would come into sway,” I reply. “If I believed my hatred for him to be a sufficient reason to murder him, I would have done so long ago. His death was part of a political strike, and to prove that to myself, to Lady Edelgard, and to others, I had to approach it with the same impartiality that I did the others. Also…” I frown, wondering if there is a point to finish the thought and if it truly needs to be spoken.

“Also what?” Ferdinand presses gently.

“To ensure success, it is necessary to remove as many variables from a situation as possible. I did not want to take part personally in his assassination, because I could not vouch with absolute certainty that I would not present an element of unpredictability and liability to the endeavor. I do not know whether mercy or the recklessness born of hatred would have been my weaknesses, but I chose not to risk either. That is why I did not kill him myself. I was committed to executing the plan with the utmost care to strategy and risk management.”

Ferdinand nods solemnly. “I see.”

“Your father did not die by your order, influence or hand,” I say, deciding to stop skirting around the subject any longer. “I do not see how my experience in any way informs yours.”

“You did not waste your time mourning him,” he says. “I do not want to waste my time either. He does not deserve it.”

The dark edge in his voice surprises me, for I have never heard it from him before. I study his expression carefully until he catches me off guard again by saying, “I came to you for advice because in this matter I wish to emulate you. A true leader, be he a noble ruler of lands or general of armies, must never let emotion distract him from his responsibilities. You never let feelings cloud your judgment or hinder your actions. I want to know how. I do not think you to be devoid of emotion, Hubert. I have seen your kindness, your bravery, your pain. But it seems as if you can turn it off when needed. I want to know how I can do that. If I am to make up for my father’s sins, I must learn how to be impartial, to be logical and not influenced by any vice, emotion or weakness. But I fear my nature is very given to emotion. I cannot figure out how to not feel things keenly, even when they make no sense and I do not want to feel them at all.”

His words provoke a strange aching feeling in my chest and I glance away to stare down at the floor sadly. He waits for me to reply, watching me with a distressed look.

“Hubert?” he murmurs at last. “Have I offended you? I did not mean to imply that you are heartless.”

“If you ever find the answer to your question, I would dearly like to know what it is,” I answer quietly. “But I can’t tell you. It’s not a power I possess.”

“Then how do you make such rational decisions? How do you remain so objective?”

“Because I must. The two are not mutually exclusive. You can disregard your emotions to make decisions, but that does not mean you cease to feel them.”

Ferdinand is silent for a long moment then he asks, “Did you feel grief for your father?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But I did feel shame and hatred, which are destructive in their own way.”

“I see.”

I glance back at Ferdinand and he looks so conflicted it pains me. The answers I have offered him have only deepened his turmoil, much as I feared. 

“I wanted to help you, but I am no good at comfort and condolences it seems,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “And yet I came to you anyway.”

“A mistake, likely.”

“No.” He shakes his head and raises his eyes to meet mine. He is resolute, grounded, more like himself than I have seen him since his father’s death. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You are a good friend, Hubert.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure if you even thought of me as one.”

He smiles at me faintly. “You can be sure.”

Setting down his teacup, which has gone cold after being forgotten during our conversation, Ferdinand reaches out and places his hand over mine. It is only for a moment, but as he withdraws his hand,his fingertips brush my wrist, ghosting across the bit of skin between my sleeve and my glove. Heat blooms in my skin from the fleeting touch and I flex my hand unconsciously, for it aches suddenly. It moves of its own accord to chase his hand and recover the lost weight of it against mine, but I catch myself after hardly shifting it an inch and force it to remain still, picking up my own teacup instead and clenching the delicate handle of it tightly in my fingers.

“I should leave you be. It is late,” Ferdinand says. “I am sorry to have interrupted your evening with intrusive questions. I appreciate your patience.”

“Will you follow your physician’s orders and sleep tonight to recover your energy?” I ask.

“I would like to see this physician’s credentials first. I doubt the legitimacy of his practice,” he says with a slight smile.

I huff at his goading and look away. “It is only common sense.”

“I am neither common nor sensible, I am afraid.”

“Go sleep, Ferdinand,” I reply. “I will not stand for work going undone because of your carelessness.”

He smiles at me again, sadly, thoughtfully, but with a peacefulness that he did not possess earlier. “I will. Do not worry about me.”

“Stop giving me cause for worry, then. I have many more pressing problems that must be fixed demanding my attention. Please do me a favor and remove yourself from my list of concerns.”

Ferdinand gets up and I stand as well, ushering him to the door. We both pause beside it reluctantly and when he turns to face me, only a step away, I freeze and study his expression because for once I cannot read it. Why is he staring at me so intently?

“Hubert, you… I…” He blinks and stirs from his strange manner. “I must be going. Goodnight.”

He leaves before I can bid him goodnight as well, closing the door quickly after him. But I do not hear his steps retreat immediately. Indeed, he lingers on the other side of my door for a good minute, indecisive about something. Inevitably he comes to some kind of conclusion, for he walks away and I listen until his steps have receded all the way down the hall to his own quarters.

Exhaling a long breath I did not realize I was holding, I lean against my door and cross my arms over my chest.

This attempt did not go as planned, and I still don’t know if it did harm or good, nor even who ended up comforting who. I had no useful advice to offer him. In the end, all I could do was admit to a similar struggle. But perhaps that is comfort in its own way.

Whatever the case, confiding in him did not prove to be as distasteful as I would have expected. And as stillness and silence settles over my room, I indulge for a moment in the absurd sentimentality of wishing he had not left and that we could have sat beside each other for longer and talked of other things as well.

I wonder if a precedent has been set tonight without either of us intending it, and if a door now opened will be stepped through with more ease in the future.

Dorothea’s words echo through my head for some reason. _“Take care of him, Hubie. He’s not like us. He’s not used to being alone.”_

For the first time in quite a while, I wonder what it would be like to have someone to turn to. And I wonder if I ever have been content with bearing burdens alone, or if I have simply never considered any other possibility.

Cleaning up the tea set and pouring the cold chamomile down the drain, I undress and climb into bed. The sheets seem colder than usual, and the bed larger – large enough for another.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Is there any soft Ferdibert scenes you'd like to read? I'm happy to fill any requests if it fits within something I think I can write well. Writing these soft oneshots brings me a lot of joy. I hope it does you too to read them! If there's something you want to see, go ahead and let me know in the comments or hit me up on Twitter at @lalexanderwrite


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